


Through All The Bitterness

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Future, M/M, So much angst, Sorry guys, did I mention someone dies?, multi-chapter, this is what happens when I listen to sad music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-20 12:47:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is in college, having broken away from the pack to pursue a normal life. He hasn't been in Beacon Hills in almost three years. When he gets some bad news, he's forced to set foot in his hometown again and face the consequences of his choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets some bad news, and is faced with having to go back to Beacon Hills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is taken from the song "How To Save A Life" by The Fray. This will probably end up being multi-chapter. Hope you like my dark side. I know I certainly don't.

Stiles Stilinski is just getting in from his last class of the week when his phone rings  
.  
“Your father died of a heart attack, just an hour ago,” a hospital staff member tells him, after a hasty introduction. She sounds female, and she identifies herself as a nurse at the Beacon Hills hospital. “We need you here to sign some forms.” Her voice catches with careful caution and sympathy.

Stiles doesn’t register the news, immediately. His fingers go numb, and he’s aware that his throat has closed up. He swallows past the lump in his throat, and his voice comes out differently when he replies.

“Thank you. I’m on my way down. I just got out of my last class.” Stiles swallows.

“How long will you be, sir?”

“I think I’ll be there tomorrow.” Stiles replies, his voice sounding more like himself. The lump in his throat has lessened. “It takes about 14 hours to drive down there.”

“I’ll have the forms when you come in,” the nurse reassures.

Stiles hangs up, and he feels himself falling apart.

He’s already packed. After today’s classes, he was planning on going down and surprising his father for Christmas. The past two years when he was in college, he made his father come up to Portland.

But this year, he thought he was ready to come back. He thought if he just kept himself busy catching up with his father…

“Shit,” Stiles mutters. His cheeks are wet with tears. He feels wrecked.

He gets his luggage and packs it in the car. And then he starts driving.

Portland to Beacon Hills was a trip he hadn’t made before. He’d driven up to Portland from Beacon Hills when he’d packed up for freshman year, but he hadn’t been back to Beacon Hills in two and a half years.

He just follows the signs, and he only pulls over twice. Both times, it takes him about thirty minutes to calm himself down.

He’s scared of being back in Beacon Hills. He’d worked up the reasoning that it was okay for him to be celebrating the holidays with his father. But with his father dead, Stiles has no ties to Beacon Hills, except a thousand memories made there that could only be found elsewhere in horror stories. But now he was coming back. And he knew nothing of what Beacon Hills was like now. Oh, sure, his father had told him things, but he didn’t know if Jackson had morphed back into a kanima, if Derek was around, if there was anything going on. His father had just said on the town “being a helluva lot quieter than when you were around.”

Stiles’ steering wheel is suddenly slick with sweat, and he’s inhaling deep breaths, trying to calm himself down before he has his third full-blown panic attack. The tremors in his hands subside, and he’s sucking in breath after breath, hating how he hates to peer through teary eyesight to see much else than the glow of the streetlights and the red of other cars’ taillights. 

He gets in Beacon Hills at two in the morning, and he goes to the hospital first. It’s exactly the same as he remembers it. The same vending machine that toppled on the floor when Lydia was in the hospital is there. And he still remembers how the chair arms dug in his back when he fell asleep here, holding that “Get Well” balloon.

He fights the nostalgia as he approaches the front desk. The nurse who is there smiles at him.

“Can I help you?” she asks, her tone too sweet for Stiles’ ears, for the damn early hour.

“My father had a heart attack, and I was wondering if there was any paperwork, because apparently…”

“You’re Stiles?” the nurse queries. Stiles stares at her, then nods.

“Right, I have the forms here,” the nurse hands him a clipboard laden with paper. “These are forms to release the remains, unless you decide to keep it for the two-day visiting period.”

“Right,” Stiles whispers. He stumbles away from the desk, holding the clipboard and a pen. Release the remains.

Of course, all that’s left of his father is his body. There’s nothing inside of him. He’s a hollowed out husk of a man, lying somewhere in the hospital. The thought is enough to make Stiles run away.

He sinks in a chair and numbly reads the fine print. Sentences full of medical lingo flash before his eyes, and he struggles to concentrate. He signs, his fingers shaking as he holds the pen. He can’t feel the pen. He just knows the forms and the hospital and the fact that his father is gone.

Gone.

He goes back to the desk, and he hands the forms over. The nurse looks over them with a nod.

“Everything looks good,” she says. “Would you like to see your father?”

Stiles’ mouth falls open. He works it soundlessly for a moment. He doesn’t know whether to be terrified or relieved. There’s a distinct terror that in death, his father will be different—that he won’t recognize his own parent. But there’s a call for closure, for peace; and the nurse is offering that.

He nods slowly. The nurse smiles soothingly at him. 

“It’s on the second floor,” she says. “Room 234.”

Stiles pushes the up elevator button with shaking fingers. He exhales sharply, and he questions if this was a good idea. It’s pushing three in the goddamn morning, for God’s sake. 

Too late to question it. The elevator doors are opening. He steps in, and he takes a breath, steeling himself before he pushes the button for the second floor.

The doors close. The elevator whirs upward with a hum. Stiles is alone, and he both loves and hates the silence. It gives him time to think, and yet he hates his thoughts.

The doors open. Stiles can’t move. He takes in another breath, and steps forward. Then another step, and he’s out of the elevator. He hears the doors hum shut behind him, and he takes another step. And another. And another. And he keeps walking.

He reads the numbers, and goes deeper in the hospital. His heart is pounding, and his fingers tremble. He sees the room number on the one after 233, and he sucks in a breath. His hands ball up in fists, and he stands outside the door. He steps forward, and he quietly opens the door.

The first thing he registers is the smell. It’s a slightly sweet smell, and its source is the orchids on the windowsill. Orchids are his dad’s favorite flowers.

The second thing he registers is that there are two people in the room.

“Stiles,” the second person greets him, their forehead wrinkled with stress, eyes full of sadness and accentuated with dark circles. “When did you get here?”


	2. Twisted Logic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation with an old friend proves to be better than Stiles expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've been on high-functioning write mode, mostly because Josiah Leming and his song "Theysay" from his 'Angels Undercover' EP gave me endless inspiration for this. Chapter 3 will be up as soon as possible!

“Ms. McCall,” Stiles stammers. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

Ms. McCall shrugs, “Well, I’ve known your father ever since you and Scott met, so I figured I needed my own closure. It’s going to be difficult without him, Stiles. He and I often helped each other through the tough times of parenting.”

Stiles enters the room, and closes the door behind him. His father is on the hospital bed, color drained out of his skin. He’s literally as white as the bedsheets, and his hair had more gray than Stiles remembers from last time. He looks like Stiles remembers him, only a thousand years older.

“The doctor warned him,” Stiles’ voice is thick with tears, “that if he didn’t have a more healthy diet, he was subject to this.” He gestures to the hospital bed, to the hollow body of his father. He tries to blink away the tears clouding his vision, but they only streak down his cheeks.

“I should’ve been more careful,” Stiles whispers the words. “I shouldn’t have let him cheat so much.”

Ms. McCall sighs, but her eyes shine with understanding. “It requires that he be ready to be healthy as well, Stiles. He wasn’t. Don’t blame yourself, for something that he did.”

“He ate curly fries, didn’t he?” Stiles doesn’t expect an answer. The laugh that bursts out of him has no mirth behind the sound. “He loved those curly fries.”

“Should I give you a minute—” McCall stands up, but Stiles interrupts her.

“No, no. I’ll walk with you. I’ll have time later.” Stiles is starting to feel dizzy, from lack of sleep and the powerful sense of grief running through him.

Ms. McCall opens the door for him, and closes it quietly behind her. She looks roughly the same, except Stiles notices gray strands in places. Her hair was still completely jet-black when Stiles left for college.

“So, how is college?” Ms. McCall asks as they walk down the hall.

Stiles shrugs. “It’s college. I finished my fall term of junior year, and I’m on track.”

“What’s your major again?”

“Computer Science,” Stiles replies.

Ms. McCall nods, and they continue in silence down the hall. There’s a palpable tension between them now, and Stiles hates it. But he asks the damn question anyways.

“How’s Scott?”

Ms. McCall sighs. “He’s enjoying New York. He’s still with Allison.”

“Is he coming home for Christmas?”

“He comes home tomorrow.”

Stiles nods. “Gotcha.”

He feels Ms. McCall’s gaze on him, and he forces himself to look straight, look down, look anywhere but at Ms. McCall’s too-understanding eyes.

“You haven’t talked to him, have you?” Ms. McCall says. Stiles is forced to look at her, and her eyes have that understanding gleam, but there’s a shadow of sadness underlining it. She understands, but she doesn’t like it. Neither does Stiles.

“Ever since Scott tried to kill Derek—” Stiles sighs. “What was I supposed to do? Scott was ungrateful and he was selfish. He got himself in a bad situation and Derek helped him. This is how Scott repays him?”

“He was tired.” Ms. McCall says. Ms. McCall knows what she just said wasn’t an excuse, and she grimaces. They’re approaching the elevator now.

Ms. McCall pushes the down button, and the doors open. Ms. McCall gestures Stiles in, and walks in after him. Stiles pushes the button for the first floor and the doors close.

“He never really talked to me,” Ms. McCall says. “But I got the feeling he wanted to start over. He wanted to try to be human again—”

“You can’t be human with wolfy senses.” Stiles interrupts.

Ms. McCall sighs. “I’m not saying that what he did was logical. I’m saying it’s what he’s thought. He’s always been the kind of person to do things first and ask questions later.”

The doors open.

“So that’s why he tried to kill Derek?” Stiles says. They walk out in the lobby.

Ms. McCall looks worn. “I’m not proud of it, of what he’s done. He tried to set a human being on fire using a goddamn self-igniting cocktail. God knows what else he’s done.”

She sighs, and rakes a hand over her hair. She checks her watch. “I’m about done with my shift. If you want, you can sleep over at my house tonight.”

Stiles looks at her, surprised by the offer.

She shrugs, smiling wryly. “It’s what you did when your mother died. You slept over at Scott’s house for a whole week, because you couldn’t bear going back to a house without a mom.”

Stiles is forcing back tears. He lets out a simple nod and pulls himself together as Ms. McCall goes to change.

She comes out five minutes later, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, hair out of the ponytail she favored when she was working.

“Derek’s still around, by the way,” she says as they’re walking out to her car in the parking lot. “So are Erica and Boyd. And Issac.”

“I haven’t heard anything about them,” Stiles admitted. They get to Stiles’ car, and Melissa gets in.

“I got a ride with another nurse,” Ms. McCall explains at Stiles’ querying look. “My car is in Derek’s shop.”

“ _Derek’s_ shop?” Stiles echoes. He started the car, and pulled out of the parking spot.

Ms. McCall nods, her lips quirking at the corners. “Derek opened up an auto shop two years ago. Boyd and Issac help him. Erica’s working at a coffee shop, and she’s been there for a year.”

“Have you talked to them?” Stiles is turning on the street, headed for the familiar route to Scott’s house.

Ms. McCall shrugs. “Erica’s sometimes there when I get my coffee, and I talked to Boyd when he picked up my car. We didn’t have much to talk about.”

Stiles turns on Scott’s street. Ms. McCall is silent as Stiles turns into the McCall driveway. His stomach is tight, and so is the smile that he manages at Ms. McCall.

“Thanks for letting me stay here,” he mutters.

Ms. McCall smiles back. “Anytime, Stiles.”

They take Stiles’ bags in the house and up to the guestroom. Stiles has to walk past Scott’s old bedroom to get to his own room, and every time he does, he chances a glance at the door.

Dammit, they were friends for 15 years. How could Stiles _not_ miss him?

“Do you want anything to eat?” Ms. McCall asks him when the bags are all in his room.

Stiles nods. They go down to the kitchen, and Ms. McCall goes through the refrigerator.

“You like Doritos, right?” Ms. McCall holds up a bag. “You and Scott ate them all the time when you guys hung out.”

Stiles laughs. “Thanks, Ms. McCall.”

“Call me Melissa,” Ms. McCall says. She hands him the bag and Stiles opens them.

“Scott is coming tomorrow—well, later today, with Allison,” Melissa reminds Stiles as he’s eating. “I don’t know if you’d feel comfortable being here when they’re here.”

Stiles shakes his head. “This is really just for the night. I didn’t want to be alone.”

Melissa grins at Stiles. “You’re never alone.”

Stiles shrugs. It’s empty words to him, as good as the intention is. His father was the last link he had in the town, and now he’s gone.

“Stiles,” Melissa senses his dismissal of her words. “I mean it. Erica asks about you every time we cross paths, and Boyd asked me if I knew if you were coming down for the holidays. People in this town love you.”

Stiles feels his heart swell with warmth, and he nods tightly, holding on to that warmth inside him. He’s felt cold inside ever since he saw his father’s body, and Melissa’s words break the cynical freeze surrounding his heart.

“Thanks,” Stiles says. “I’m going to bed. What time is Scott getting in?”

“Flight gets in at five o’clock in the afternoon.”

Stiles nods. “I’ll be out before then.”

He avoids looking at Melissa’s crestfallen expression as he finishes eating the Doritos and goes upstairs to his room.


	3. Old Friends, Old Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles meets the pack at last, and he asks a favor of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say that Sterek and angst go hand in hand? Enjoy!

It’s not that Stiles doesn’t appreciate Ms. McCall’s—Melissa’s—hospitality. He does, but he’d rather avoid any more major emotional fuck-ups. He’s got a funeral to plan, and shit to work through. He doesn’t want to have to face a damn estrangement on top of things.

Which is why he leaves at 9 am, turning down Melissa’s offers for breakfast, and goes to his own house. He ends up unlocking the door and just entering the house to leave the bags by the front door. He keeps his eyes away from the rest of the house. He’ll face that later.

He first makes a stop at the coffee shop. He steps in and is immediately overwhelmed with the bitter smell of coffee. He tries to not meet anyone’s gaze as he goes to the order counter.

The cashier greets him with a polite smile. “Hi, what can I get you?” She looks familiar, but Stiles shakes off the thought.

“Just a peppermint mocha, please,” he replies. “Grande size.”

“Got it,” the cashier says. “That’ll be 4.50.”

Stiles hands over his debit card, and the cashier does her work. She chances a quick look at the card, and her eyes widen.

“Oh my God. Stiles?”

Stiles nods cautiously. The cashier is looking at him with surprise and happiness emanating off her.

“You don’t recognize me,” the cashier says. She’s about Stiles’ height, with blonde curls barely brushing her shoulders and big brown eyes that make Stiles feel like he’s looked in them before…

“Wait. Erica?”

Erica Reyes nods happily. “God, it’s fantastic to see you. Although, I wish it was under different circumstances. But it’s been three years! How are you?”

Stiles shrugs. He can’t help the smile on his lips, though. As much as bumping into Erica is a painful reminder of the past, he has to admit it provides him with a strange source of comfort. “I’m all right. Could be better.”

Erica nods, handing back the card. “Yeah, I didn’t know what to do when I lost my father either.”

“You lost your father?”

Erica shrugs. “Police say it was an animal attack.” Her tone hints at more; it has the strange bite of resigned anger.

“The alpha pack?” Stiles guesses. Erica nods, her lips twisting ruefully.

“Derek’s not betting against it,” Erica says. “But, there’s a line.” She gestures to behind him.

“W-wha—oh!” Stiles is turning and he sees the impatient glares at him. “Right.”

He casts a good-bye smile at Erica, and moves to the pick-up area, only to find his coffee order already made and waiting for him.

-

The arrangements for the funeral have been made. The will has been read. Stiles has nothing to do. But he’s still hesitant about going to his house. It’s full of his father. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to handle it—the fact that he has nothing left here but childhood friends. Friends and a two-story house left to him by the deceased. 

His life here is bleak. It’s extraordinarily bleak, dammit. He hasn’t felt this low since his mother died, and that was when he was only six.

His mother…

When Stiles’ mother had died, he’d watched his father empty whiskey bottle after whiskey bottle. His mother’s sister—Stiles’ aunt—had tried to talk Sheriff Stilinski out of drinking, and that was when the words that haunted Stiles today had been said.

_How the fuck am I supposed to live with this kid? This hyperactive little bastard who keeps ruining my life?_

Stiles had ran out of the house as Sheriff Stilinski had ranted on and on. He’d felt numb until he’d reached the cemetery.

He was crying as he reached his mother’s grave, with the flowers still fresh against the headstone. He gasped in shallow breaths and sat down in front of the headstone. He’d felt calmer, knowing he was close to his mother. The chaos back at the house could wait. He had this.

That night had also been when he’d encountered Derek Hale for the first time. Derek had been standing in the graveyard, and he’d been staring at Stiles with a curious expression on his face.

When Derek realized that Stiles was looking at him, he’d walked over and said five words.

_Let me take you home._

Stiles had nodded, and they’d walked back to Derek’s house together. He’d laid on the cream-colored couch as Mrs. Hale had called Sheriff Stilinski. After a while, Laura sat beside him. She started petting his hair as indistinct voices sounded in the background. 

That had been the only time he’d encountered the entire Hale family. And no one but his father and him knew. He hadn’t even told Scott.

But he could still remember the gentle caress of Laura’s fingers through his hair, and the way Mr. Hale smiled at him. He could still see the expression on Derek’s face as he stared at Stiles—like something treasured he’d lost was found again, but he’d given up looking for it long ago. He could still hear the firm tone of Mrs. Hale as she spoke urgently to Derek. Derek himself must have been in his mid-teens at the time.

He remembered the police car coming to pick him up, and Sheriff Stilinski’s face, ravaged with grief and tears, hovering above him. He remembered the cool touch of Mrs. Hale’s hand on his shoulder, her telling him to come back anytime. He remembered the perfume that Laura had worn when she’d hugged Stiles; she couldn’t have been older than seventeen or eighteen at the time.

They’d helped him that night, not only finding him, but letting him know that he was cared about. He couldn’t stop thinking about Derek for weeks afterwards.

But he hadn’t seen Derek again until Scott had been bit. And then, Scott turning had been of higher importance.

Stiles sighs, and he starts up the car. He’s still in the parking lot of the bank, where he’s been sitting in the car for the past ten minutes.

But now he knows what he needs to do. Now he knows where he wants to go.

And it isn’t his home.

-

When Stiles turns into the parking lot that serves both the coffeehouse Erica works at and a local supermarket, he gets out of the car to face both Erica and Issac coming out of the coffee shop.

Issac has changed as much as Erica has. His facial features look less hawkish; they just have a distinct masculine quality to them now. The way he carries himself is more assertive. He looks surer of himself, and a careful smile spreads across his face.

“Well, look who it is,” Issac says. His voice is still the same, only it rings with a quiet confidence that Stiles hadn’t heard previously. The kind that only comes to someone when they are truly comfortable with themselves.

God, Stiles has missed so much in the past three years.

“It’s good to see you, Issac.” Stiles is closing the distance between them, approaching the two werewolves. Issac is holding out his arms and Stiles is stepping into them, and they’re hugging, Issac folding Stiles into the security of his arms. Issac is tucking his head into Stiles’ shoulder and inhaling.

“So, I imagine you’re here for something,” Issac says as they part. Stiles shrugs, giving Erica a hug as well.

“I just wanted to see where Derek was, so I figured I’d ask Erica, if she was still here.”

Erica chuckles. “You’re just in time, actually. I just got off my shift. Boyd and Derek are still at the shop, but Issac has the day off, so I figured I’d call him and tell him you’re here.”

Stiles laughs wryly. “Does Derek know I’m here yet? I want to talk to him.”

Erica frowns. “Last time you were here, you weren’t a fan of Derek. Something change that?”

“Three years can change a guy, Erica.” Stiles replies. “Scott was…” He can’t find a strong enough word to describe what he feels about Scott, and he gives up.

Erica huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, Scott technically isn’t allowed in Beacon Hills after he tried to kill Derek. Derek was pretty shaken, and he almost went to New York and…”

Erica trails off all of a sudden, looking like she suddenly realized she’s said too much.

“Yeah, attempted murder can really shake you up,” Stiles says dryly.

“Have you talked to Scott?” Issac asks.

Stiles shakes his head. “I’ve talked to his mom. She was at the hospital last night. She—she let me sleep over for the night, and last I heard, he’s coming home tonight.”

“What?” Issac’s voice is flinty. “Is that what you want to tell Derek?”

“That,” Stiles replies. “And something else. I need to talk to him about my mother.”

“Your mother?” Erica echoes. “Why?”

“It’s a long story.” Stiles replies. “Can we just go?”

Erica and Issac exchange looks—Erica skeptical, Issac curious. Both of them shrug.

“Don’t see why not,” Erica replies.

They both get in Erica’s car while Stiles gets in his, and then Stiles follows them to a building, with Derek’s Auto Shop spelled out on a sign in front.

“Derek’s auto shop?” Stiles quotes as he gets out. “What, you guys couldn’t have done something like Lycanthrope Repairs or something?”

Erica just rolls her eyes, and the three of them enter the office. Boyd is there, shuffling through some paperwork. He smiles at the sight of Stiles, and he hurries out from behind the desk to give Stiles a quick hug.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Boyd laughs.

And then Derek is in the doorway leading to the garage. And he doesn’t have a smile on his face, nor does he look happy in any matter. But he doesn’t look mad either, which Stiles counts as a bonus. He just looks confused, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. He throws the rag over his shoulder. The last time Stiles saw him, he’d been clinging to Stiles himself. Derek had admitted that night that he was in love with Stiles, and they’d made love. Then the next morning, Stiles had left for college without saying good-bye.

“I heard about your father,” Derek says.

“Yeah, everybody did.” Stiles replies.

“Why are you here?” Derek asks. “The last time I saw you was three years ago.”

“I had to get out. Scott…”

“Was a murderer,” Derek finishes for Stiles. “Is a murderer.”

“He’s back in town,” Erica speaks up. “He’s home for Christmas. Stiles wanted to let you know.”

Derek scowls. “Well, as long as he doesn’t confront me, or any of us. And he won’t. He’s not too much of an idiot to realize when he’s not wanted.”

A pregnant pause falls after Derek finishes talking. Stiles and Erica glance at each other, and then Stiles timidly steps forward. 

“I need to talk to you,” Stiles tells Derek. “In private.”

Derek sighs. “Come on back.”

Stiles walks around the counter and follows Derek out to the car garage. Stiles sits on a work bench, while Derek simply stands.

“You met me before high school,” Stiles starts. “I was six.”

“Stiles…”

Stiles holds up a hand to silence Derek’s protest. He’s already nervous as it is. He takes a deep breath before continuing.

“I was six. I’d just lost my mother, and I was falling apart. My father wasn’t there, and you were. You and your family took care of me.” Stiles takes another deep breath. “Now my father’s gone, and Scott and I aren’t speaking—and for good reason. And I need you. You were there for me when I was six, and you made everything better. I’m twenty years old now, Derek, and I need you again. Because I don’t know what to do with myself, and you and the pack are all that I have left, outside of a big, empty house and some memories.”

Derek chuckles. He shakes his head at the floor.

“I don’t get you, Stiles,” he mutters. “Really, I don’t. I fell in love with you, and I made love to you. And then you disappear for three years, and now you want me back because your father died.”

“Derek, I…”

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice is soft. “I made love to you, and then you went away. Am I just someone you can pick up whenever you feel like it? Am I so insignificant?”

“No, but I had college,” Stiles replies. “I couldn’t just stay here. It was too late, and I couldn’t turn back.”

“No, Stiles…” Derek’s voice is still soft, but there’s something about each word that makes Stiles want to flinch. “You had a choice, and you left me. I don’t know if I can help you, after you…” He breaks off and laughs bitterly, turning away from Stiles’ face. “Get out, Stiles.”

“Derek…”

“Get out!” Derek shouts.

Stiles can’t stop the tears from welling in his eyes as he leaves. He doesn’t bother looking at Issac, Boyd or Erica. He knows they heard.

And he stumbles out in the parking lot, and a bitter sob breaks free of him. Damn it. Damn Derek. Damn his own stupid self.


	4. Drowning In Memories, Sleeping With Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _As Boyd smiles and wipes away his tears, Stiles feels like he’s making the worst choice, standing knee-deep in memories and sleeping with ghosts. Stiles feels like Beacon Hills could very well kill him if he swallowed his pride and stayed for too long._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was easily the toughest chapter to write. I just can't handle my Stiles being so sad!

He was eighteen and foolish. He didn’t know what he had.

He gets in the car, struggling to hold back his tears as he put the car in gear and backed up out of the parking space too fast. He put it in Drive, and the car leaped forward at Stiles’ generous applying of gas. He’s on the road too quickly and yet too slowly. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but at the same time, he has only one place where he can really go.

He’d made love with Derek, and he’d accepted every feverish touch, every whispered sweet nothing. But he’d thought it was for the night—not forever.

So he’d shrugged off the alpha’s promises of forever, gotten dressed, and he’d left Derek’s home. He’d gotten in the car with his father and they’d started driving. As they drove out of Beacon Hills, a desolate howl had sounded. And Stiles had almost turned back at the misery in that sound, but he’d forced himself to keep going. Things were too messed up to even attempt to fix.

And now, they’re just as messed up.

Stiles sees a car in his rearview. He recognizes the old grey Honda as Erica’s. He blinks away the tears, and pulls over. Sure enough, the car behind him follows suit. Erica gets out. And to Stiles’ surprise, Issac too.

Stiles wipes at his face as the two werewolves approach his car. Then he rolls down the window as Erica gets to his driver’s side. Erica bends down, her sympathy apparent on her face.

“You’re going home, aren’t you?” she asks.

Stiles laughs bitterly. “The funeral’s tomorrow. Might as well face the fact that he’s gone tonight rather than tomorrow—not that I haven’t…” he trails off and sighs. _Thought about it._

He’s unable to look at Erica with teary eyes, talk to her without wishing his voice sounded less ravaged from the pent-up emotions in his heart.

“We’ll go with you,” Erica says. Stiles looks up at Erica.

“Just because Derek is our alpha doesn’t mean he speaks for us,” she continues. “You need someone to be there for you. We’re here.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything. He just nods as both Erica and Issac go back to their car. He whispers a quiet “okay” to himself as he puts the car in gear and drives back on the road again. He feels calmer, more in control, knowing someone is behind him; someone still loves him despite the fuck ups he’s made in the past.

The drive to Stiles’ childhood home is a somber affair, and Stiles doesn’t move after he’s parked the car in the driveway. He just stares at the house, and doesn’t make any attempt to get out until Erica taps on the window, beckoning him out.

Stiles obeys her, getting out to the comfort of Erica’s hand slipping into his as he locks up the car, and stares at the house again. It’s still the same two-story from his memories, and he remembers a thousand walks up the driveways. Ones where he would be hobbling and bruised from a werewolf issue, and others where he would be so excited he barely touched the ground.

“We’re right beside you, Stiles,” Issac murmurs. Erica squeezes Stiles’ hand. Stiles himself takes a deep breath and starts walking up the driveway. Erica and Issac flank him as he approaches the front door. He unlocks it—the _click_ echoes loud in the hush. Then Stiles opens it, and the door swings inward.

Stiles steps inside. His bags are still there, placed carefully right next to the door. Stiles remembers putting them there and then getting out. He didn’t want to arrive to the funeral home a mess. He wanted to be in control of himself.

Stiles exhales. Erica is still there, and she reminds him with her hand squeezing his. Stiles detangles his hand from hers, and steps forward. The house has pictures of Stiles and his father—and even a couple back when Stiles’ mother was alive.

Stiles feels his eyes sting with tears, and he sniffs, trying to contain his emotions—to not go fucking mad with the grief he’s feeling.

“Stiles…” Issac can feel Stiles’ struggling, and he sounds worried.

“Give me a moment,” Stiles replies, his voice raspy with tears. “Just one moment.”

Stiles can practically taste the wariness rolling off Issac as he takes in a deep breath, steeling himself. He feels a stray tear streak down his cheek, and he swipes at it. He takes in another deep breath, and he becomes just a tiny bit calmer, a tiny bit more under control of his emotions. It’s miniscule, but it makes a difference.

“I never told my dad the truth,” Stiles speaks. “I kept it in the dark all this time, and I went into therapy for the rest of high school.”

He’d had to attend meetings twice a week right after school, on Tuesday and Thursday for one hour. They’d helped, but Stiles had had to lie there too, carefully crafting stories for all of the damn werewolf issues. When he’d graduated, he’d been ready to leave. He had been sick of the lies, of the pressure on him—he’d just wanted to leave, and start over.

And when Derek had crept in his room that night and confessed his love, he had grown frightened. He hadn’t said anything, he hadn’t protested. He had been stupid to just let Derek believe Stiles felt the same. But Stiles had. Stiles had felt the same, but the need to leave, the need to begin anew, had been so much stronger. So he’d stayed silent.

“Stiles?” Erica says, jolting Stiles out of his thoughts.

“I’m fine,” Stiles replies quickly.

Erica mutters a soft “okay”, and Stiles looks back at her. She looks uncertain on what to do, and Stiles attempts to smile encouragingly at her.

“You can look around, if you want,” Stiles says. “I just don’t want you two to leave.”

Erica takes another step in and another and another. She starts looking at the pictures on the wall. Issac nods, and approaches Stiles. 

“What was he like?” he asks. “As a father.”

Stiles laughs mirthlessly, the sting of tears still in his eyes. “He was wonderful. He wasn’t around because of his work; but when he was, he made damn sure he was there for me. The lacrosse games, the parent-teacher meetings—he made sure he was there for everything. So, he wasn’t around, but he was there.”

Issac nods, his lips curling in a small smile.

“When he questioned me about that night in the graveyard, I remember being jealous of you when he was talking to me,” he shrugs. “He seemed a hell of a lot nicer than my own father, and I wished I had someone like that. He may not have been around, but it sounds like he loved you.”

Stiles laughs again. “Yeah, he did.”

“Stiles?” Erica is approaching the two boys. “Boyd just called. He’s on his way over.” Her lips twist in that rueful grimace Stiles knows so well. “I told him you were okay, but…”

Stiles shrugs. “I could use the pack. Even if Derek hates me, it’s nice to know that the rest of the pack doesn’t.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Issac says. “He’s feeling hurt, betrayed, tired, nervous—a hell of a lot of things. But if there was hate in him towards you, we would have smelled it.”

“Stiles, Derek doesn’t hate a lot of people right now,” Erica says. “Especially not you. If anything, he’s still in love with you when he doesn’t want to be. The only person he really hates right now has got to be Scott. If Scott does anything that Derek thinks is out of line, chances are he’s not going to have a lot of self-control.”

The last words hang in the air, and Stiles is saved by thinking about them too much by a knock on the door.

“It’s Boyd,” Erica goes to the door, and opens it. There is Boyd, and he gives Erica a kiss on the cheek before stepping inside.

“Didn’t get to talk to you much at the shop,” he tells Stiles. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

“Thanks, Boyd.” Stiles replies.

“When is the funeral?” Boyd asks.

“Day after tomorrow,” Stiles says. “I made the arrangements today.”

Boyd nods, in the middle of pulling off his oil-stained shoes. “Expect us there.”

Stiles smiles. “Thanks.”

“Will Derek be there?” Issac asks.

Boyd shrugs in Issac’s general direction, placing his shoes next to Stiles’ luggage. “Probably. I know he was pretty worried about Stiles when he found out the news. The way he sees it, now that the sheriff’s gone, Stiles isn’t going to come back here again, ever.”

Stiles can feel the burn of all three gazes on him, and his cheeks flush.

“It’s held at the cemetery,” he says, avoiding the question hanging in the air. “At 11 am. The funeral director should tell you where the funeral is being held, because I don’t know where—”

“And after that?” Erica asks.

Stiles shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“You mean, you’re really not coming back?” Issac asks, a hint of a desperate snarl in his voice. “You’re just leaving us here?”

“Issac, I—”

“Where the hell are you going to go for Christmas?” Erica demands. “Your college campus has to be closed for the holidays, I’m sure.”

“Nobody deserves to be alone on Christmas, Stiles,” Boyd implores softly. “Erica and I are living together, and we’ve got an extra room. We can fix it up for you, if you don’t want to be in this house for the holidays.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles mutters. He stares at his shoes, and kicks at the floor half-heartedly. “I mean, this whole thing with Derek, and Scott becoming an omega—I just don’t know if it’s healthy for me to stay here. It might do more bad than good.”

“But you’re pack,” Boyd replies. “You’ve been there for us—even Derek would agree, regardless of him being emotionally constipated. You were there when we needed someone. Now you look like you could use somebody, and we’re here for you. Just please don’t leave, Stiles. You’d be breaking our hearts if you did. We love you; and we’re there for you, more than we are for our own alpha.”

Stiles looks up and Boyd is crying. His eyes are glimmering with unshed tears, and Stiles has to swallow before he can say anything. He’s seen Erica, Lydia and Allison cry when things got messed up. He’s seen Scott at his most vulnerable both before and after he was bitten. And Issac had even gone to him senior year, tears threatening to fall as he confessed he’d been harboring unrequited feelings for Scott. The only people he hasn’t seen emotional is Boyd and Derek. And now that Boyd is laying his heart out on his sleeve, imploring Stiles to stay like Stiles means the world to him…

Stiles sucks in a deep breath and nods. “Okay. I’ll stay. I’ll stay for Christmas.”

As Boyd smiles and wipes away his tears, Stiles feels like he’s making the worst choice, standing knee-deep in memories and sleeping with ghosts. Stiles feels like Beacon Hills could very well kill him if he swallowed his pride and stayed for too long.


	5. Snowfall At A Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They’re seated at a playground on the swings when they really start talking. Lydia is sprawled out on the pine chips that make up the playground floor, and the image is so un-like Lydia that Stiles almost says something. But he just takes his third sip of whiskey, admiring the silence of snowfall._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be the longest chapter I'll ever write, and mostly because I couldn't find a good enough stopping place. Sigur Ros' music--especially "Samskeyti"--helped me a lot here.

“Are you ready, Stiles?”

Stiles nods tightly. He’s still focused on the white gazebo visible from the cemetery entrance. It’s a chilly, grey morning, and Stiles shoves his hands in his pockets as he gets out of Erica’s car. Issac, Erica and Boyd are with him, and he’s grateful for the support. Erica just loops her arm through his. She’s dressed in a simple gray dress, her hair pulled back neatly. Issac, Boyd and Stiles are all wearing suits, and Stiles tugs at his tie as he approaches the gazebo.

A few people are already there. Stiles checks the time: it’s 10:50—ten minutes until the funeral is supposed to start. Stiles recognizes Jackson and Lydia, sitting in the third row. Both give him compassionate smiles. He sees Coach Finstock, surprisingly, who’s absent of all his manic energy. The rest of them are police officers, all decked out in uniform.

Stiles exhales. He takes a look at the casket. It’s simple mahogany, and the lid is open. He can see his father’s profile—he looks peaceful, and Stiles swears he can see the faintest hint of a smile on the sheriff’s face…

“Stiles,” Erica whispers. Stiles tears his eyes away from his father’s serene face, and obediently follows Erica’s lead for a seat. They sit in the front row, and Stiles feels Erica’s hand slide in his. He holds on tight, thankful for Erica’s support.

Someone sits next to him. Stiles glances over. It’s Melissa McCall.

“Ms. McCall.” Stiles whispers. 

The older woman smiles sadly at him. “I had enough double shifts saved up to take the entire weekend off. I wouldn’t miss being here for the world, Stiles.”

“Is Scott…?” Stiles trails off. He’s afraid to look around, afraid he might meet Scott’s hostile gaze.

Melissa nods. “Allison insisted. They’re on their way now.”

Erica’s grip on Stiles’ hand tightens just the tiniest bit. Stiles nods at Melissa and faces forward just as the city mayor steps to the front to face the audience.

Stiles checks the time. He’s surprised for it to be 11 o’clock already. He exhales as the mayor starts speaking.

“Today should be acknowledged as a day of remembrance,” the mayor begins. “We lost someone great, and we should know that what he did will never be forgotten. Nor can he be replaced, especially to those who were close to him.”

Stiles sighs, tears gathering in his eyes. Erica’s thumb rubs soothing circles on the flesh between his thumb and index finger, and he focuses on that pressure, that gentle comfort.

The mayor speaks on, his words a muffled buzz in Stiles’ ears as Stiles cries, tears streaking down his cheeks as he stares at his father. Memories and words echo in his head.

_“I’m proud of you, son.”_

_“So, you lied to me?”_

_“I miss your mom.”_

Stiles draws in a shaky breath.

_“See, death just doesn’t happen to you. It happens to everyone around you.”_

He remembers telling that to Lydia, and he can’t help but feel like he was stupid not to understand its true meaning. He thought he’d known death. He’d seen his mother die of cancer. He’d seen Jackson die (and then come back to life). He’d seen Kate Argent’s corpse. He’d heard of Allison’s mother.

But over time, over the three years that he’d been gone, he’d forgotten about death, he’d grown accustomed to life without a death every other month.

And now he was back, and choking back sobs when Erica’s eyes were merely full of tears, and Issac and Boyd had identical grimaces. Melissa herself was sniffling into a tissue.

Stiles dares to look behind him. His gaze locks with Lydia, her own eyes wet with tears. She smiles at him, and gives him a supportive nod.

_Death just doesn’t happen to you. It happens to everyone around you._

Stiles smiles wanly back at Lydia and faces the front again.

A deputy sheriff is up at the front now, and he speaks quietly, carefully. Stiles doesn’t bother to pay attention. He just pays attention to his father’s face, and treasures those last few moments. Before he knows it, the eulogy is over and people are standing up. Erica is pulling Stiles up, and he’s realizing that’s it, that the funeral is finished.

“Do you wanna say a few words?” Melissa is asking him. “Before the casket is lowered?”

Stiles is nodding numbly. Erica is still holding his hand, and they are both walking to the casket, and Stiles is looking at his father’s face. His eyes are closed, and there’s a certain whimsical tilt to the mouth that Stiles isn’t sure if he’s imagining or not. 

Stiles’ own hands shake. Erica has stepped back to give him privacy—Melissa too. Stiles is alone, grappling with tears still shivering in his eyes.

“Dad. I’m sorry,” Stiles says. _For not telling you everything._ “I hope you’re in a better place than this.” _Because this world is messed up sometimes._

He turns away from his father’s body, and he goes back to Erica with leaden legs. He allows his eyes to roam over the funeral guests. He spots Derek almost instantly, and his stomach drops to his knees. Derek is dressed in a suit—an actual suit—and he meets Stiles’ gaze with a respectful nod. Stiles tears his eyes away from Derek, and keeps looking. There’s Lydia and Jackson.

There’s Lydia and Jackson, speaking with Scott and Allison. Allison’s hair is cut short, the locks skimming her shoulders, and she’s dressed in dark grey funeral attire that Lydia would drool over. Scott looks more like Jackson, his hair swept off his face and a simple button-down open at the neck. They’re both talking, smiling.

“Let’s go,” Stiles murmurs to Erica. As he speaks those two words, Scott stops talking and glances over at Stiles.

Stiles feels his face flush, and he tears his eyes away from Scott and lets Erica lead him out from under the gazebo. The air is cool and wet, and a light drizzle sprinkles on Stiles’ face. It feels good, and Stiles sucks in deep, cleansing breaths on his way to Erica’s car.

“So this is who you hang out with now?”

Scott’s voice sounds behind him, full of anger and venom. And a little bit of sadness too.

Stiles turns around to face Scott. The latter is in an army stance, fists clenched. Stiles swears he sees the pupils flash amber. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Stiles says to him.

“You slept at my house one night, didn’t you?” Scott accuses. “I could smell your scent right when I walked in the door.”

“Your mom offered,” Stiles replies. “Why should I have turned her down?”

“Because you turned her against me when I was trying to get rid of Derek!” Scott shouts. “You fed her lies about what kind of person Derek Hale was. Derek isn’t human enough to be considered one. He’s scum, Stiles. Are you really that blind?”

Stiles scoffs, tries to keep the anger out of his voice. “You’re misinformed. You’ve been talking with Chris Argent for too long.” He tries to brush Scott off, grips the door handle…

“You’re despicable.” Scott growls.

Something in Stiles gives way. He turns away from the car, anger pumping through him.

“Really, Scott?” he asks. “You’re really going to call me despicable when you tried to kill someone who’s trying to do nothing but help you.”

Stiles doesn’t even have time to blink before Scott is in Stiles’ face, one hand gripping Stiles’ jaw. “How is he helping me, huh? How is he helping you? He came in our lives, and he was a parasite. Be fucking thankful you got out when you did.”

Scott’s hand suddenly isn’t there, and Stiles’ slumping against the car. He barely registers the flash of blonde hair. He does, however, notice the low growling in front of him, and Scott’s surprised cry.

“Issac?” Scott asks. “I thought we—”

“Don’t ever hurt Stiles like that again,” Issac’s voice comes out strange and rough, the broken, inhuman tone of someone half-shifted. Stiles stands up, stands just behind Issac. He can still see Scott, his eyes back to brown and his mouth open in disbelief.

Stiles speaks, “I stand for what’s right, Scott. Killing someone when they’ve done nothing but try to help you isn’t right.”

Scott chuckles, the sound dangerously mirthless. “You’re just saying that because you’re in love with Derek.”

Stiles chuckles right back at him, his anger tempered with a strange sense of pity. Scott wasn’t the same, and Stiles didn’t know this person, this creature that Issac was protecting him from. “That may be, but…” he throws a pointed nod at Allison, who was surveying the situation with a nervous eye. “Sounds like you’re the pot calling the kettle black, Scott.”

-

“You guys, it’s snowing!”

Stiles looks up from the picture he’s holding of him and his father. He sets it down carefully before rushing to join Issac, Boyd and Erica at the window.

It is indeed snowing: big, fat flakes that are flecking the ground and show no sign of melting. Stiles watches the snowflakes fall with a sense of awe.

“And here I thought it was just going to be a bit of a cold snap,” Erica mutters.

“You don’t like the snow, Erica?” Stiles asks.

“Eh. I tolerate it, but I’ve never really been excited about it. If I wasn’t pack, I’d be living in Arizona.” Erica replies.

“A werewolf in Arizona.” Issac chuckles.

“Shut up, Issac!” Erica reprimands just as Stiles sees a car turn in the driveway. He frowns.

“Who is that?”

Everyone’s silent as the car doors open and close. Lydia and Allison walk up to the front door. A second later, a knock sounds. 

Stiles pulls away from the window. He goes to the door, and hesitates. Erica, Boyd and Issac are all looking at him, and the latter gives him a nod.

That nod gives Stiles the boost of confidence he needs. He grasps the doorknob and opens the door. There’s Lydia and Allison, identical expressions of apprehension on their faces. He also, curiously, notices that between them, they have three flasks.

“What’s going on, you two?” he asks.

Lydia opens her mouth, then closes it again. Allison glances at her, then stutters when Stiles raises an eyebrow at her.

“I-I—well, we were…we were thinking about this morning and the funeral, and uh…”

“We want to talk to you,” Lydia pipes in. “Alone. Without werewolves around, and uh, we were thinking we could take a walk?”

Stiles laughs, shaking his head. “If this is a trap or anything…”

“It’s not,” Erica is behind Stiles. “They’re telling the truth, as far as I know.”

“Will you come with us?” Allison implores. “I know there’s a lot of stuff between you and Scott, but I wanted to support you. I really did. And Scott kind of fucked that up.”

“That’s an understatement,” Erica mutters behind Stiles. Stiles himself exhales.

“I don’t see why not,” he says.

He gets his parka and joins the two women. They’re walking down the driveway, and Stiles feels odd, like he’s five years younger, before all the werewolves came around.

“Your flask,” Lydia hands Stiles a metal flask, and he opens it up and takes a cautionary sip. Whiskey spills into his mouth, and Stiles splutters as it burns all the way down to his stomach.

“God, that’s intense,” Stiles mutters. “I haven’t had whiskey since my freshman year.”

Lydia laughs. “After a funeral, there’s either alcohol or sex. We didn’t really want to get in an orgy, so we brought these.”

They’re seated at a playground on the swings when they really start talking. Lydia is sprawled out on the pine chips that make up the playground floor, and the image is so un-like Lydia that Stiles almost says something. But he just takes his third sip of whiskey, admiring the silence of snowfall.

“What happened this morning…” Allison begins. She’s staring down at her feet while she talks. “It was my fault. I persuaded Scott to go to the funeral, and he must have smelled Derek and…”

“Allison…”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Allison says. “I’m not saying that what Scott did was right, but he felt betrayed…”

“If he felt betrayed, imagine what I must have felt like when he tried to kill Derek.” Stiles argues. “Derek is a good guy, Allison.”

“I’m not saying he’s not!” Allison’s head snaps up. She meets Stiles’ gaze.

“Then who’s side are you on?”

“Nobody’s! I—” Allison sucks in a deep breath, and let it go in a plume of hot exhalation. “I just miss you. You and I, we got each other. We each had the same fucked-up guy that we loved in high school, and now he’s more fucked up and I was thinking that the funeral would bring him back to his senses, but he’s so far gone and…” Allison breaks off all of a sudden.

“Not everything can be fixed, Allison.” Stiles murmurs. “It’s nice to think you can, but…” He takes another drink of whiskey, and shudders at the inevitable burn.

Allison starts crying then, soft wrecked sounds that hold so much pain than what Allison let on. Stiles is almost compelled to drop his flask and comfort Allison. But it’s Allison, and she’d elbow Stiles in the groin if Stiles attempted to comfort her. 

Lydia does, however, sit up. “Allison…”

Allison is sniffling, and when she looks up at the night sky, it’s to make a plea to Lydia: “How the hell do you and Jackson make this whole werewolf thing work?”

Lydia shrugs, tucking her legs underneath her. “Scott never hated himself the way Jackson did. He wanted the bite. Scott didn’t.”

“But, still, why did we have to be here? Why did my family have to be hunters? Why did my love have to be a werewolf? Why do we have to sneak around like this in order to really talk? I’m freezing to death here.”

“Sometimes life throws you a curveball,” Stiles tells Allison. “You think I want this? You think I like this?”

“No,” Allison whispers.

“I don’t think you wanted it either. But shit happens, Allison. And sometimes we can’t predict what happens next. If Scott had never gotten bit, we wouldn’t be in love with frigging, real-life werewolves. If that night with Peter hadn’t happened…”

If he hadn’t eavesdropped and then crept to Scott’s house…

“If anything, I’m the one to blame for Scott becoming a werewolf,” Stiles mutters.

Allison looks ready to protest, but nothing comes out of her mouth, and she just resumes staring at the ground. Lydia closes her flask, staring at Stiles.

“You’re in love with Derek, aren’t you?” Lydia stage-whispers.

Stiles laughs, surprised by the topic change. “Does it matter? Some things just don’t work out.”

“No, Stiles, you’re wrong.” Allison says, her tone bitter. “It’s the people who don’t work out. It’s because of Scott’s self-loathing that we’re here.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything. And after a while Allison mutters out four words.

“We’re having a baby.”

“Oh, Allison!” Lydia’s voice is immediately buoyed with surprise and happiness.

“Wait, why are you so depressed, then?” Stiles asks. “Having a baby is a good thing, right?”

Allison laughs dryly. “It would be, if Scott didn’t hate himself. Do I really want to bring a child into this world where it might not even have a father? We don’t even know if the baby is human.”

“How far along are you?” Lydia asks.

“Six weeks,” Allison admits. “I just wish there was a way to know that Scott would be around, that there could be a way to know if Scott could stop hating himself and accept all of himself—human and werewolf—before our kid came. That’s why I wanted him to see you. So maybe he could see you and go, he’s with werewolves—he’s been with werewolves. He doesn’t look too damn bad.”

“Maybe he could talk with Derek again.”

Allison laughs. “Yeah, good luck suggesting that to him. I tried that suggestion, and he looked at me like I’d grown another head. For some reason, he can’t separate werewolf from Derek. And the fact that you’re in love with Derek, Stiles, only means that you’re the enemy in his twisted mind.”

“Is it really that obvious that I’m—”

“Yes, Stiles, it is,” Lydia huffs. “God, the basic sexual equivalent of you two just staring at each other would be Jackson and I in bed. And believe me, I make my escapades in bed count.”

Lydia almost sounds like she’s in high school again—lofty, exasperated tone and all. Stiles doesn’t bother fighting the smile that comes on his face.

“What?” Lydia demands as she realizes Stiles’ gaze is still on her. “Is there too much snow in my hair or something?”

“No, Lydia. You’re perfect,” Stiles replies. “You’ve always been perfect.”

Lydia throws Stiles a sweet smile at that. “You’re not so bad yourself.

Stiles laughs. “Allison?”

Allison looks towards Stiles silently.

“If there’s a way I could talk to Scott, let me know.” Stiles says. “I’m going to start fighting for Derek, because he’s saved me in so many ways, and I want him back in my life again.”

“Finally he realizes it,” Lydia mutters.

“But I want Scott back in my life again,” Stiles continues, “and maybe I could talk to him and see if I can get him to see Derek eye-to-eye.”

“If you can do that, it’d be a miracle,” Allison replies. 

Stiles shrugs. “He owes me one. He didn’t turn into a werewolf on his own; and he needs to realize that no matter who I hang out with or who I’m in love with, he owes me one. And now I’m coming to claim it.”


	6. Afraid For Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“So you were afraid for yourself,” Derek says. “You were selfish. You didn’t see how many people loved you, how many people were behind you. You are a hero, but even heroes fall down, Stiles. And when you fell down, I was there. And I was ready to help you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "All Fall Down" by OneRepublic was the musical inspiration that kept me writing this chapter.

Two days after his whiskey-fueled talk with Lydia and Allison, Stiles asks Boyd if he can take up the guest room in their house.

Boyd says yes, and Stiles is starting to unpack his luggage when a knock sounds on Boyd’s door. Erica walks out of the room, leaving Stiles alone with a quiet, assisting Boyd. Stiles hears the door open, and Erica’s surprised exclamation.

“Derek!” she says. “I haven’t seen you since the funeral.”

Stiles’ stomach clenches. He glances up at Boyd, who has a glimmer of alarm in his eyes.

Stiles hasn’t talked to Derek since that time in the auto shop. Apart from that brief moment of eye contact of the funeral, he hasn’t seen much of Derek either.

Derek sounds pleasant enough, though, accepting Erica’s invitation inside with a quiet “thank you.” Stiles doesn’t make a move to greet Derek. He doesn’t know how Derek will react. As far as Stiles is concerned, Derek disappeared right after the funeral and didn’t hear anything about the confrontation between Stiles and Scott. Stiles is certain of this because if Derek did know, Scott wouldn’t be alive right now—omega status or not.

“Is it still snowing outside?” Erica asks.

Derek groans. “It’s the worst. You can barely smell anything out there when there’s all that snow on top of everything. It really messes with your nose after a while. It picked a good time to come around, though. There’s really no potential threat but Scott.”

Stiles glances at Boyd, and the question in their eyes is the same. _Will Erica tell Derek about what happened after the service?_

Erica doesn’t seem to mention it, though. She just makes a disparaging noise and says something rude about Scott’s parentage that has Derek barking out a surprised chuckle.

“Erica! That’s beneath you,” he chides, still chuckling. “Where’s Boyd?”

“He’s with Stiles.” Erica responds, seemingly an automatic reaction.

“Stiles?” Derek queries.

Erica is silent, and after a moment, Boyd inhales in a sharp breath. It’s a breath that’s heavy with tension.

“Is Stiles here?” Derek asks after another moment of silence.

Boyd straightens up from his crouch over the suitcase. He shrugs at Stiles.

“Might as well,” he says.

Stiles sighs and throws the shirt he’d paused in folding, back in the suitcase. Stiles walks out of his room, Boyd close behind. His stomach is burning with nerves, and his palms are slick with sweat. He sees Derek in the living room, standing up. Erica is beside him, an apologetic expression on her face.

“Stiles,” Derek says. “I thought you’d go home after the funeral.”

“Well, I was planning to, but Boyd and Erica insisted on housing me. I didn’t want to be alone in my father’s house, so I’m here.” Stiles is fully aware of Derek’s gaze sweeping down his body and back up.

“I see,” Derek replies. “How long are you going to be here?”

“Probably through Christmas,” Stiles shrugs. “I may go back to Oregon for the New Year, though. I hear there’s some good celebrating in Portland.”

Derek grimaces. “I wouldn’t know.”

Stiles is silent. Derek’s last words sound like a gunshot, and the air is heavy with tension. Erica is staring at Derek, her jaw tight and her brow furrowed. Boyd lightly touches Stiles’ elbow, and Stiles finds comfort from the simple contact.

“But,” Derek continues. “I suppose if you’re all for fun, more power to you.”

Stiles laughs. The disbelief is clear in the sound. “Yeah, Derek, I went to Oregon just to have fun. What else could there possibly be?” His words are heavy with sarcasm, and he doesn’t try to hide the hurt underlying each word.

“What, indeed?” Derek asks. It’s a rhetorical question, but Stiles answers it anyways.

“A life away from werewolves,” Stiles says. “Ever try to imagine that as a possibility?”

“So you didn’t care about us,” Derek says slowly.

“No, I cared.” Stiles replies. “But after Scott tried to kill you, I decided I didn’t want to be somewhere where two people I cared about were trying to gain the upper hand on the other. Scott was my best friend, and you were the guy I fell in love with.”

A rush of adrenaline courses through his system at the last nine words. Derek’s jaw tightens, and Erica’s staring at Stiles now, her eyes wide.

“So, I made you leave,” Derek says. “Scott and I…”

“It wasn’t just you,” Stiles replies. “It was everything. I thought about living my life like this, for the rest of my life. And you know what I thought, Derek? I thought that I wouldn’t live past forty. That this kind of life would kill a human, and it would kill me.”

“So you were afraid for yourself,” Derek replies. “You were selfish. You didn’t see how many people loved you, how many people were behind you. You are a hero, but even heroes fall down, Stiles. And when you fell down, I was there. And I was ready to help you. When Jackson became a werewolf and Lydia said she loved him, I was there for you. When you were in that funk following the goddamn fight with the alpha wolf pack, I was there for you. When you graduated high school, and cried on the school bleachers for two hours, I held you in my arms and said it was going to be all right. But you know what? You apparently didn’t give a shit, because when I climbed in your room and told you the feelings I had for you for the past three years, you didn’t even hear me, because you weren’t really here.”

Stiles feels the tears build in his throat, and he can’t tear his eyes away from Derek’s. They’re flashing red, and they’re full of rawness: raw anger, raw hurt, a million emotions tied up inside Derek’s heart.

“I don’t give a damn about Scott, Stiles.” Derek says. “I stopped caring about him long before you two graduated. I’d rather have you than him in my pack any day. And as horrible as it sounds, I sometimes wish you would’ve been the one who was bit by Peter that night. Because Scott isn’t any good as a human, and he isn’t any good as a werewolf either.”

Stiles wants to argue, defend his best friend even if they aren’t best friends anymore. But Derek’s tone brooks no argument.

“If you go to Scott, you’re not going to find me ready to talk with him. If you go back to Portland, you’re not going to find a place amongst this pack any longer when you come back.”

“Derek…” Erica is protesting. Boyd lets out a noise of distress behind Stiles.

“You don’t mean that,” Stiles is whispering. “You can’t.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to see how much you mean to me for almost six years, Stiles.” Derek says. “How much longer do I have to wait for you to make up your mind?”

It’s not the rhetorical question that Stiles wants it to be. He shrugs helplessly at Derek, at a loss for words. Derek nods slowly.

“I think I’ve worn out my welcome,” he tells Erica. “I’ll come back another time.”

No one says anything as he exits the house.

-

“Stiles?”

Erica is at the doorway, donning her coat.

“I’m needed in the coffee shop,” she explains. “And Derek wants both Issac and Boyd to be in the shop because the damn snow is making everyone paranoid of car crashes. You’ll be on your own until tonight. Key’s in the kitchen if you wanna go out. Remember to lock up.”

“I’m fine.” Stiles smiles.

Erica stares at Stiles for a moment longer. “I’d be surprised, if you were.” She offers up one last smile—really just a flash of teeth; and then she’s gone. A couple moments later, the door closes behind her. Stiles is alone.

And as soon as Stiles lets in that thought of him being alone, he feels claustrophobic. He hates just sitting around in one place. Especially if the place technically isn’t his. In school, Stiles and Scott never did just sit around in either of their houses. But he didn’t have much else to do—other than just walk. Which wasn’t such a bad idea. Stiles chanced a look outside. Four inches of snow was outside his window, and it was still coming down. Damn it, he was going out, but he was going to bundle up first.

Five minutes later, Stiles was tramping out in the snow, clad in gloves and his winter parka. He locks the house with the extra key Erica loaned him, and then he was walking. There is absolutely no sound as Stiles walks, save for the quietest crunch under Stiles’ feet with each snow-encrusted step. The cars are all but vanished from the roads, and Stiles relishes the option of walking on the street without fear.

He hasn’t not felt afraid in Beacon Hills in a long time. When he was in high school, he’d been afraid to walk down the street, afraid he’d get kidnapped or killed. And even before, since his mother had died, he’d been afraid that someone else close to him could die. But this hadn’t led to him being reclusive. Rather, he’d been more open with saying “I love you” than the average male peer.

Stiles sighs as the smell of pizza wafts in his general vicinity. It’s just after 1, and he’d been so busy with Derek and unpacking that he hadn’t had time to have lunch. He doesn’t bother walking in a restaurant, though. He’ll eat something when he’s home. He just keeps walking. He’s downtown now, one of the advantages of staying at Erica and Boyd’s place.

He reaches the high school, closed now because of snow. He sucks in an icy breath, and relishes the burn he feels in his chest. It’s been a long time since he’s been able to appreciate anything. He hasn’t slowed down like this since he was fifteen.

The realization jolts him, and he finds himself shaking his head. His memories of high school are no longer normal ones. Freshman year is one barely remembered, and sophomore year only became remarkable after Scott was bit.

_Don’t be such a sourwolf._

He remembers telling that to Derek one night, when they were trying to trap Peter in the school. That night had been dumb decision after dumb decision, Stiles now realizes. They’d been so lucky Derek had been around when he had. It’d been hard enough, especially in the beginning. But as things had progressed, Stiles had actually come to enjoy the guy.

He didn’t know when he’d fallen in love with Derek. It’d happened so subtly, and then he’d been treading water ever since. He’d only realized it once he got to college. Before, he’d owed it to simple hormones, to the fact that he hadn’t done much in the way of relationships, let alone sex. But Derek had been on his thoughts for the entire first semester of his freshman year, and by the time that had happened, it’d been too late.

Stiles exhales, and starts walking again, this time back to Erica and Boyd’s place.

Damn it, he was still very, very much in love with Derek, but he couldn’t commit now. He’d have to give up everything, and be stuck in the same place that he’d been trying to escape from. He wanted what was here, but at the same time, he hated being here. He hated being haunted by a million reminders that he’d looked death in the face when he was living, experiencing life. But death was a horse he was dragging around.

If he was in love with Derek, then he was always going to have a tie to his teenage years, though. What mattered was how he looked at Derek. He’d been marked for death from the start, with his mother. Actually, considering things, Stiles had been damn lucky he’d had a death-free time at college. 

Stiles couldn’t help shuddering at the thought of werewolves in college. But if he said that Derek was his, and they mated—God, Stiles was going to be around werewolves all his life. But some part of him _liked_ that. Even as the logical part of him protested and used the attacks on Lydia, Scott, Jackson, Erica, Boyd…

In some way, Stiles liked knowing he had someone there—knowing someone who wasn’t the average human, susceptible to the same diseases. His parents had both died young, and his friends had all faced death. If Derek was titanium, then Stiles could live easier, knowing he wasn’t going to lose Derek to death. If he did lose Derek, it would be easier knowing they were both still alive.

Stiles changes his direction on the street, heading away from downtown and Erica’s place. He’d changed his mind; and he would probably curse himself out later for making such an impulse decision. But, damn it, he needed to talk to Derek.


	7. Until You're Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since the day I met you, but I didn’t know it until it was too late, and now I really don’t want it to be too late. So I want another chance from you; and if you don’t love me back, I understand—I just know that you’re the only person I’ve ever truly fallen for.”_

Stiles knocks on Derek’s door. He waits a full fifteen seconds, and then knocks again. He’s halfway through counting the fifteen seconds again when the door opens.

And there’s Derek, and he’s wearing a plaid button-down over a tank top and jeans. His lips purse as he sees Stiles, and he’s finally clean-shaven. Something about seeing Derek clean shaven disconnects some of the circuit boards in Stiles’ brain, so his casual “we need to talk” comes out as:

“I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since the day I met you, but I didn’t know it until it was too late, and now I really don’t want it to be too late. So I want another chance from you; and if you don’t love me back, I understand—I just know that you’re the only person I’ve ever truly fallen for.”

There’s two heartbeats worth of silence, then Derek laughs. A thousand emotions flicker across his face. Disbelief, ecstasy, confusion, terror, and love.

“Stiles, I…” he begins.

A female voice rings out tentatively behind Derek. “Is this a bad time?”

Stiles’ stomach clenches. Derek now looks apologetic, worrying his bottom lip under his teeth. A young woman, about Derek’s age, is behind Derek. She’s pretty, with brown hair pulled back in a messy bun, and full lips painted scarlet. Black jeans and a cardigan hang off her skinny frame.

“This probably is a bad time.” she says, drawing her cardigan about herself. “I should leave. We—” she turns awkwardly to Derek. “I’ll come back another time.”

Derek nods, and the woman nods back, her lips curling in a rueful half smile. She turns to Stiles.

“Sorry for making your visit awkward,” she says. “I tend to make things awkward.”

Stiles can’t help but laugh. “It’s all right. I’m Stiles.”

The woman takes the hand Stiles offered. “Natalie. Hopefully I’ll see you another time.”

All Stiles can do is nod, and the woman goes down to the snow-encrusted driveway, getting in an old Chevy and driving away after one last wave.

“So, Natalie,” Stiles stares at Derek when Natalie has gone, trying to hide the pain by smiling. The pain still shows up in his voice, cracking it in strange places. “Natalie, who I don’t know, you know? And this is the first time you’ve let a strange woman in your house, at least when I’m around, you know? And well, maybe that woman—this development—could have possibly stemmed from the fact that I never told you how I felt about you.”

Stiles feels the tears closing up his throat, and he swallows hard. He laughs again, a strange kind of hiccup.

“Stiles…”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Stiles replies. “I, uh—I’m sorry for barging in and I just—I should go.”

He never really turns and goes down the steps. He never really turns, period. Because Derek is kissing him.

Derek Hale is kissing him. Derek Hale is wrapping his arms around Stiles Stilinski and kissing him, caressing him, treating him like he’s oxygen. Derek’s mouth is exceedingly gentle, a series of chaste, sweet kisses that regardless have Stiles trembling—especially when Derek plants one last feather-light kiss on his mouth before pressing their foreheads together.

“She’s nobody,” Derek murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “She’s a friend of Issac’s. We’re collaborating on his Christmas present. But, you’re everything. You have no idea how bad I’ve wanted to kiss you. From the first time I saw you, Stiles, when you came back, I’ve wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to fall asleep beside you, to make sure you’re okay after the world fucked you up one more time. You have no idea how bad I’ve wanted you in the past three years we’ve been apart.”

Stiles let out a breathy laugh. “All this time? You’ve loved me all this time?”

“Always,” Derek whispers against Stiles’ lips, his hips moving against Stiles’ own, his hands lacing at the small of Stiles’ back.

“Why, Derek?” Stiles murmurs. “Why love someone like me? I’m human, and I’m weak compared to someone like Erica or even Lydia. Why me?”

“Stiles,” Derek is moving his lips against the crook of Stiles’ neck. “You’re human, but you’re fearless. You’ve got more courage, more loyalty, more intelligence than half the werewolves I’ve met.”

“Derek,” Stiles is grinning, and he can’t stop even when Derek kisses Stiles again. “I love you. I’ve always loved you,” he mumbles against Derek’s mouth.

“Even with everything I’ve done? Even with everything I’ve said?” Derek’s voice catches, wavering with a mixture of regret and worry. “The way I’ve treated you, Stiles…”

“The past is the past.” Stiles whispers. “The future is the future. This is our now, Derek, and I want you in my future, for the rest of my life.”

Derek is silent, his hands moving up and down Stiles’ back. Stiles pulls back, staring at Derek’s face. Derek is smiling, but his eyes are shiny with unshed tears.

“You actually mean that,” Derek says, his voice soft. “You’re not just saying it. You actually mean that.”

“Yes,” Stiles whispers. “Yes, Derek, I do.”

“The rest of your life?” Derek murmurs. “The rest of our lives? Together?”

“If you can put up with me for that long,” Stiles jokes.

Derek shakes his head. “I wouldn’t be able to live a second longer knowing you weren’t mine.”

Stiles can’t do anything but kiss Derek again. Derek responds enthusiastically, and there’s something different driving the kiss. It’s the promise of more kisses in the future, and this kiss becomes a languorous, sweet kiss. Every second of it is heaven.

“I love you,” Derek whispers.

“I love you too,” Stiles murmurs back.

“Good.” Derek says. “Let’s go inside.”

There’s something else, the suggestion of more driving Derek’s words. Stiles draws back, his mouth twitching in an amused grin. “Are you proposing we…”

Derek bites on his own bottom lip. “If you want to.”

Stiles laughs. “Don’t be silly. Of course I want to.”

Once they’re inside, Derek doesn’t waste any time. He crowds Stiles up against the front door, lips and hands exploring, touching. Stiles doesn’t waste any time either. His hands drop to squeeze Derek’s ass, and the noise that Derek makes is heaven.

“Stiles…” he whispers. “Damn it, Stiles.”

Stiles moans as Derek’s hands fumble under the layers and discover the skin of his abdomen. Another moan erupts from him as Derek’s hands move up to caress his torso, exploring and discovering all his sensitive parts…

“Damn it,” Derek is growling in the crook of Stiles’ neck. “Your clothes. Off. I’m going to rip them off.”

“Don’t you dare,” Stiles admonished, shoving Derek back. “I actually like this coat, and I will chase you with wolfsbane if you rip it.”

Derek smiles, and kisses Stiles again. “You’re adorable. But, really, let’s get those clothes off.”

They do. Stiles’ coat and sweater end up by the door, and Derek ends up taking his shirt off when Stiles’ hands worry at the hem.

Stiles can’t get enough. He traces the lines of Derek’s torso with his fingertips, taking Derek’s sweet, open-mouthed kisses as he learns Derek’s body. Eventually his hands fall to Derek’s fly, and he unbuttons it.

“Stiles…” Derek’s mouth is worrying the skin between neck and shoulder, and every time he sucks, Stiles can’t help but whimper. “If we’re going to go any further, we need to move to the bedroom.”

“Who said we couldn’t?” Stiles teases. Derek pulls back, the question obvious in his eyes. Stiles nods.

“Yes, yes,” he says.

And then nothing else is said.

-

Stiles can’t stop smiling afterwards. He lets Derek nose at the crook of his shoulder, under his jaw, lets Derek shower kisses down his torso, on his chin, on his neck, lets Derek’s hands explore how sensitive his thighs and hips are. And he can’t stop smiling, can’t stop talking about nonsensical things like college and memories of werewolves and them.

When he talks about them, he can almost smell Derek’s happiness, his contentment. When he talks about them, it’s sweet nothings like what they should do together, and how he knows his family would have liked him, and things like he bets everyone had a bet on how long they would hold out—even Allison.

But just the mention of Allison’s name makes him think about Scott, and he can’t help but feel a bit frustrated. Derek looks up from Stiles’ abdomen, sensing his mood change.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers.

Stiles sighs. “I’m going to need to talk to Scott.”

Derek’s lips purse. He doesn’t give any argument, just rests his stubbled chin on Stiles’ chest. “Whatever you think is best, Stiles. If he matters to you, then he matters. I’ll never forgive him, though, for trying to kill me.”

Stiles shrugs. “I won’t either, because he almost took you from me. But, I can move past it. And I want to try one more time before I give up on him. Allison’s pregnant with child, and God knows she could use pack support.”

Derek smiles. “And that’s why I love you, Stiles.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles queries.

“You put everyone before yourself, even when it hurts.” Derek smiles and plants a kiss on the place where Stiles’ heart is. “Laura always did that. You remind me of her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters to go before the end. :)


	8. Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He manages to hold back the tears driving out on the road, but when he’s surrounded by trees, he can’t stop the bitter sobs erupting from his chest. And after a while, he just gives up and sobs on the snow-encrusted shoulder._

“I need to talk to Scott,”

That’s the first thing Stiles says when Allison opens the door. She’s dressed in jeans, her face devoid of make-up and her hair pulled back. She looks tired. At Stiles’ words, an understanding grimace appears on her face, and she stands aside to let Stiles in her house.

“Who is it, Allison?” Chris Argent appears. He looks the same, Stiles notices, except with more silver in his hair. His eyebrows go up at the sight of Stiles. “Well, we haven’t seen you for a while.”

“I know,” Stiles shrugs. “I’ve been busy.”

“I see. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, sir.” Stiles says. “I just wish it hadn’t taken my father dying to make me come back.”

“It’s funny how life works out,” Chris remarks wistfully. “Are you here for Scott?”

“Yes, I am.” Stiles replies, his stomach clenching as he spoke.

“Living room. I’m sure he already knows you’re here, though.”

Stiles steps in the living room, Allison at his side. Scott is on the couch, a defiant expression on his face as he watches television. On the screen, Gil Grissom from CSI is talking with Catherine Willows about another murder.

“So, let me guess. You’re here to convince me that I’m a horrible person for killing your mate, and therefore I should join Derek’s pack and go back to the high school times with Issac and all the others,” Scott’s tone is equal parts lofty and bitter, and Stiles has half a mind to lunge forward and slap him. He doesn’t. He just pauses in the doorway, Allison beside him.

“No,” Stiles replies.

Scott looks over. Something in Stiles’ face makes him sigh and turn off the television, right when Willows raises her eyebrow.

“Then what is it, Stiles?” Scott stands up. “I can smell Derek on you. I guess that means you fucked.”

“We prefer the term ‘mated’, Scott.” Stiles replies gently. “Just as I’m sure you prefer the term ‘omega’ and not ‘betrayer’.”

Scott scoffs. “So this really is about the pack, isn’t it?”

“No,” Stiles shrugs. “I was just putting things in perspective.”

Scott snorts. “What do you want from me?” he asks.

Stiles smiles. “I want you to know that you’ve always got a place here. I’ve made peace with my ghosts, Scott. I’ve talked with Derek, with the betas, with your mother. Can we at least move forward from the past?”

“Why would I want to?” Scott retorts.

Stiles means to speak, but Allison interrupts him with two words.

“I’m pregnant.”

Scott’s face whitens. “What?”

Allison is nodding, her lips tight at the corners. “I’ve only told Lydia, Stiles and my father. I was thinking about having an abortion, because I don’t know if it’s werewolf or not, and the only person who knows his shit is the man you tried to kill right after we all graduated. My father doesn’t know anything about werewolf babies, and I’m thinking Deaton doesn’t know much either.”

Scott doesn’t say anything. His mouth is open in astonishment as he stares at Allison.

“So—so, w-what do you want me to do?” he says finally, the question directed at Allison.

“Apologize to Stiles. You may not like Derek, and that’s fine—I’m going to talk to him plenty about raising a potential werewolf—but you have to be on good terms with the baby’s godfather—which is what we promised to Stiles. We said that if we ever had children, Stiles would be the godfather.”

Stiles smiles at the memory. They’d only been in junior year, four years ago.

“I’d hate to be friends with only the mother, Scott,” he pipes up. “I mean, if I’m going to be a part of the child’s life, I might as well be a part of your lives as well.”

Scott frowns. “So what do you want from me? Permission to buy the child a pacifier or something?”

“No,” Stiles shakes his head. “I just want to know that everything’s okay. I just want things to be okay between us.”

Scott shrugs. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do that.”

Stiles’ stomach drops. “You’re not serious.”

Scott laughs mirthlessly, a one-note exhale. “Every time I look at you, Stiles, or even just think about you, I get so damn mad, my claws almost come out. I can’t move past the fact that you took Derek’s side and threw me to the wolves. I almost went to jail, Stiles, all because you’d fallen for a guy who’d taken everything away from me. You almost killed me, Stiles.”

Stiles’ stomach twists. He sighs sharply.

“I see,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry. I fell in love with him, Scott, but I love you too.”

Scott doesn’t say anything. He just shrugs. After a moment of silence, Stiles leaves. He doesn’t want to meet Allison’s gaze, or Chris’. He just keeps his eyes glued to the floor as he walks out.

He manages to hold back the tears driving out on the road, but when he’s surrounded by trees, he can’t stop the bitter sobs erupting from his chest. And after a while, he just gives up and sobs on the snow-encrusted shoulder.

Damn Scott for being so stubborn. Damn Scott for being so fucking arrogant. Damn him. Damn Stiles for loving him.

He’s not alone, all of a sudden. Derek’s in the car, and he’s wrapping his arms around Stiles, whispering soothing words as Stiles curls into him. He doesn’t say much as Stiles cries, just holds him tight.

“I assume the meeting didn’t go well,” Derek says quietly when Stiles’ sobs are reduced to an occasional sniff.

Stiles inhales shakily. “That’s an understatement. Scott was just…” He trails off, and sniffs wanly. Derek hums in response.

“Some people just don’t know how to forgive, Stiles,” Derek murmurs. “You fell in love, you have nothing to be sorry for. He just can’t accept the fact that you changed.”

Stiles groans wordlessly. “I’m ready to go home.”

Derek kisses him then, long and deep and slow. “Just know that if you don’t have Scott, you have people who love you for who you are, and who will love you no matter if you change or not.”

“You’re secretly a huge fucking sap at heart, aren’t you?” Stiles mutters through the growing smile on his face. Derek grins back at him.

“Only for you, Stiles.” Derek kisses Stiles gently on the forehead. “C’mon. Let’s get you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is going to be the last one! :)


	9. Never Let You Go (Epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s all worth the trouble, and the tears. He’s found a place where he feels like he belongs. He’s home._

“You realize this is really our first holiday together.”

Stiles looks up from the coffee he’s brewing. Derek’s leaning against the kitchen doorway, still dressed in his pajamas, his hair wonderfully tousled.

“I know,” Stiles replies, returning his attention to the coffeepot, which he pours in a mug. “But remember I always used to give you a present. I was the only one, because every time I asked Issac or anyone, they never did.”

Derek shrugs, behind Stiles now, kissing his neck. “Just means that you’d be more of a mother figure than them.”

“What, so I’m the mama figure now?” Stiles turns away from the coffeemaker, mug in hand. “I don’t think Erica would appreciate me mothering me over her.”

Derek laughs and kisses Stiles. Stiles kisses his mate back.

“Merry Christmas, Derek,” he says when the kiss is over.

“Merry Christmas, Stiles.” Derek replies.

It’s Stiles’ first holiday without his father, and he’s grateful he’s got Derek. He told Derek last night that he wanted to go to his father’s grave before going to the Christmas party. He reminds Derek of this, and the latter shuffles off to get dressed while Stiles drinks his coffee.

He’s nervous in some ways. This is his first holiday in Beacon Hills in three years—the past three years, Stiles insisted his father come up to Portland. And he doesn’t know what to expect, especially with Scott out of his life.

He drinks his coffee and walks around Derek’s house. After he’d talked with Scott, he’d decided to move in with Derek. He’d come back to Erica and Boyd’s place with Derek. Issac, Erica and Boyd had all been there. They’d been unsurprised to see Derek and Stiles’ hands entwined.

“Finally, you two have some sense,” Erica had said. “I was starting to wonder if I was actually going to lose the bet.”

“Bet?” Stiles echoed.

It’d turned out that Erica and Issac had had a bet going on when Derek and Stiles would get together. Stiles had been indignant, of course; but Derek had been unsurprised.

“They bet on everything,” Derek had explained.

“Pretty much,” Erica had replied. “Now we just have to bet on how long it’s going to take Stiles to learn how to walk after a full moon.”

-

“Okay, this is it,” Stiles whispers.

Derek is holding his gloved hand as Stiles stares out at the snow-covered graveyard. He remembers where his father’s grave is. He’s got a single orchid in his other hand, and he can already feel the emotions affecting him, making him tremble.

“You ready?” Derek asks. “Take all the time you need.”

Stiles steels himself. “I’m ready.”

They get out of the car, and Stiles sucks in a cold breath before taking Derek’s hand again. They start walking towards the gravestone, and Stiles is grateful that Derek is there.

They reach the gravestone. Stiles dusts the snow off the top before bending down to read it.

_Sheriff John Michael Stilinski  
Born December 26, 1962  
Died December 7, 2012  
May your courage be remembered_

Stiles is crying silently, tears streaming down his face. He gasps in cold gulps of air, and leans in Derek’s one-armed embrace. He places the orchid at the foot of the gravestone, and steels himself, stemming the flow of tears. He wipes at his face, and sniffs back the remaining tears.

“Dad,” his voice comes out rough, but strong. “You were always there for me. You always tried to make my life the best it could be, under the circumstances. You were a great father, and I hated lying to you about werewolves. I just didn’t want you as hurt as I’ve been. I’ve lost my best friend because he hates that he’s a werewolf. His wife is divorcing him, and they’ve already been promised a place in the pack—her and her child.

“You taught me how to be strong, and you taught me the meaning of loyalty. I could see how you struggled against alcohol after Mom died. You resisted and resisted, and you showed me strength through that.

“You’ve walked me through all my grief over Mom, and now I have someone there for me to walk me through the loss of you. I wish you were here, and I wish it hadn’t taken you dying to get me back to Beacon Hills. But this is where I belong. I’m moving back here after college, and I’m going to be a teacher. Hopefully, I’ll be as well-liked as you.”

As Stiles talks, the tears dissipate, and he feels more at peace inside. He stands up after he finishes talking, and he nods to Derek. They leave.

Stiles knows it’s going to be hard with no parental figure there for him. He’s on his own, but he’s got someone who’s going to be there for life. He looks out at Beacon Hills, at his town, and he can’t imagine being anywhere else. Sure, the werewolves are going to mess up his life sometimes, but he was bound to have a crazy life anyhow. It’s all worth the trouble, and the tears. He’s found a place where he feels like he belongs. He’s home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of this story, guys! Thanks so much for seeing this story through to the end. I thoroughly enjoyed writing it.
> 
> I'll probably be writing more fanfiction in the future, though; don't y'all worry. I'll be around - follow my Tumblr (ridiculously-ross.tumblr.com) for updates.


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